


Writing Letters Nightly

by theskylarshippers (coyotestoryteller)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Canon Universe, Drama, F/M, Letters, M/M, Multi, Weird writing Style
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:33:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22660285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotestoryteller/pseuds/theskylarshippers
Summary: Written for Hamilton Non-Stop 2020 Fic Challenge.Letters. They seem so insignificant but written on the parchment are stories that might just be worthy of Hollywood. Some letters tell tales of sisterhood, others of forbidden love. Interactions between old friends or just a casual conversation. Sometimes, letters can reveal things you never thought were possible.Alexander Hamilton's story is about love, about betrayal, about loss. It's a story that doesn't belong to him entirely. Who gets to decide how the story is told?(summary partially written by @jkyoloing, for which I am ever grateful for)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Angelica Schuyler & Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eliza writes to Angelica. Early morning is a good time for introspection and strategy.

My dearest sister Angelica,

It is a glorious thing, to be falling in love. Letters. Small flirtations. Every moment is heaven when I am with him, and I am so light I feel I might fly away. You may sigh and shake your head as you have heard it all before. You may wonder why I bother to write this letter at all, seeing as you are only a hallway away. But it is near dawn and I would not awake you for sentiments you have grown tired of.

The birds are singing. I have often considered it to be the most beautiful form of natural music. The streets are alive with people, even this early- or this late, considering how many of them must have worked all through the night. My candle flickers in the morning breeze. 

It is difficult to imagine myself a bride when I am sitting at my desk in the bedroom of my home with my family. It is even more difficult to imagine myself a mother, here in my own house, where I will always be a child. I am slightly scared. I am uncertain.

Yet the way he talks it is easy. Like a predetermined thing. We are courting. I love him. He loves me. Therefore I am his and he is mine. Hence, we shall be married. Therefore I am his bride and then we shall have children and live together always through thick and thin. He makes it sound so simple. He talks as if he knows exactly where he is going.

The war is still going on. He is still writing for the General; he will take a break for our marriage, and afterwards, quite soon afterwards, he will return. General Washington has not allowed him a command, yet I still worry. One stray bullet could fell him and then where would I be, where would we be? I cannot lose him.

You told me to be careful with him. You said he will do whatever it takes to survive. I cannot decide if his ability to always come out alive is a blessing or a curse. I suppose it is a blessing for him. He has told me much of his fractured and disagreeable past. How he survived it I cannot even begin to imagine. God willing, he will survive whatever life throws at him.

What I do not know is whether he sees me as enough a part of him that in the event of disaster he would save me as well. Am I enough to him that he would pull me from the flames if our life falls and burns, or would he leave me- or worse, use me- to save himself?

I doubt he has lied to me, but I am certain that there are many things he has not told me.

You may wonder why I have suddenly veered course from lovesick fantasy into romantic strategy. I am not sure myself, only that my thoughts have dwelled here often of late. Perhaps I learned that from you. Perhaps the war is getting to my head.

But all in all, if these thoughts are present in my mind, best to use them up. I have already fallen in too far to go back now.

I love him. He loves me. When we are married we will love each other and we will love our children. I am too helplessly far gone for him to be able to settle for anyone else.

We will figure it out. He promised me. It is the most reassuringly true promise he has made.

He does not look at me with the eyes of a wolf, reducing me to a simple body or a good investment. I am more to him than my face or my fortune. He will be gentle with my heart for the time being. He is mine. I am his. That is enough. Perhaps with time, he will allow it to be enough for him as well, though the process may be slow.

Oh, Angelica!

In writing this letter I have tried to think as you do, to look ahead and predict how the state of things will be down the road, after we are married and the current bouts of lovesickness have passed. But oh, I am overcome with elation at the beauty of it all, and it quite overshadows my lingering worry.

How I love him! Loving him fills me up like water until I can scarcely keep from drowning. I cannot describe it, I cannot understand it.

How could I ever describe him fully? You know him, of course; you were the one who introduced us, but I am not at all certain that you met the same Alexander that night.

He is like a symphony. He is loud and complex with a million moving parts that combine to create the most beautiful and terrible and striking music, and it thunders through my head and captivates my mind and I cannot get too much of it-- I cannot get too much of him.

By contrast, I am a pianist, or perhaps a string quartet. Nothing nearly as brash or as grand. And yet he seems quite taken with me. He is quite taken with me-- he loves me, he listens to me, he explains all manner of fascinating things to me.

I suppose we do still listen to and enjoy soloists. There is no reason he should desire his wife a perfect equal, a debating partner. I have seen the two of you match wits before and i can honestly say I was surprised and impressed by the similarities in your thinking.

I confess I do not enjoy thinking like you or thinking like him. It is difficult for me-- it is not a place my mind goes willingly.

I will marry him. We will figure it out. I will be content.

I hope I will be a good mother, as good as our mother was to us. I hope I will be a good wife to him. I will try, I will be diligent and teach the children all that I know, and I hope that will be enough.

With love from your dearest sister,

Eliza.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is late. Again. I am tired, life has been chaotic, and I am not apologizing for hitting you in the face with this.
> 
> Hamilton writes to Laurens, about the same time as the first chapter. It's tense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made for Hamilton Non-Stop 2020 Fic Challenge. This is my February entry.

My dearest Laurens, 

I hope that you are in good health and quite happy, whatever you happen to be doing, and do not miss your dear friend too much. I have sent you several letters, no doubt you have received them by now, filled with idle conversation and chatter about political goings-on. Of course you never tire of hearing my opinions. I can hardly blame you. Rest assured that I am equally fascinated by your own. How could I not be, when your brilliant mind is so charming?

But this letter holds a clear purpose to inform you of my personal news, not to reiterate what you know already or express to you my affections.

I am courting Elizabeth Schuyler. I think you were present when we met, at a ball a few weeks ago. I should not blame you if you do not remember; one ball is much like another, especially when, as yourself, one is uninterested in the charms of the ladies present.

You may think me a fool to begin a courtship, seeing as I am so often kept busy with other arrangements (yourself among them). I may tell you that I intend her to be my wife in quite a short time, and you may shake your head and sigh at my folly. I shall attempt to prove to you that my decision is a good one. I am certain that by the end of this letter you will agree with me.

First, Elizabeth Schuyler is no common girl. She is rich, well-mannered, kind, and beautiful. She is willing to put complete trust in me, which, since I am almost always in debate with those I love, brings a sort of easy relief to our encounters. She holds compassion for all; I am sure she would make a good mother. She smells pleasantly of lilac. And she is enamored of me.

You are innately familiar with my charms and my reliability on the front of wooing the populace. There are others more taken with me, but she is loyal, kind, and above all, perfect wife material. I am sure that you, without having witnessed any of our courtship beyond our first meeting, and having had quite a few drinks at that time, could recite the entire history of her infatuation.

I am certain you cannot explain, however, my sudden affection toward her, for I cannot explain it myself.

You will not be surprised to hear that it began as a calculated move on my part. I looked out across a ballroom and saw a pretty face and a vast fortune. I saw Elizabeth Schuyler, E. Schuyler, one of the Schuyler sisters even. Now I look at her and see Eliza.

I am taken with her. She is so very peaceful. She is a respite, a moment of quiet in the guns and cannons and shouting that is my life. It is not a terrible shift to go from the world of war to the world of society, of quiet rooms and sociality and polite speaking.  
I will most likely never be quite at home in the world Eliza inhabits. But I confess it is a lovely garden to relax in. and she, too, enjoys the crossover between our two distinct worlds, minds, ways of thinking. 

Perhaps I would say I love her. 

I have told her quite a lot of my exploits in the army. I have related several stories involving you, but do not be concerned. I have not fabricated scandalous tales about our life in the war. Our secrets are forever safe from even the most devoted wife. If I have my way they shall go to our graves.

I would also like to assuage your concerns as to any shift in my sentiments. Although I may love Eliza, and most certainly intend to wed her, my love for you remains entirely in place. I should hope my heart is up to the task of loving a dear friend as well as a wife. You certainly seem up to the task and as we have always been in harmony, and your wife has not caused any problems between the two of us, I cannot see why my future wife should do so, although I concede Mrs. Laurens has remained in England and I have not met her.

But as the two of us are so alike, I am sure you will enjoy my wife’s company, when you meet her again, although take care not to reveal too much about our time in the war, so as not to scare her.

I should like to inquire as to your recent activities. Do you have any news for me? I hope you have kept yourself busy these past few days. When we are not at war, there is precious little to do at the office. 

To sum things up, my dearest Laurens, I am courting Eliza, I shall send you an invitation to our wedding shortly, my sentiments towards you have not changed in the slightest, nor should they, as the affairs of marriage have no place to interfere with friendship, I have no other news for you, and I send my everlasting love, to you, my dear friend.

Yours forever,

Alexander.


End file.
